Him for Her
by sneekymagee
Summary: After all they've been through they're still surpassing themselves. Shad X Ashei ONESHOT


Just a little ShadXAshei ficlet to pass the time. Absolutely no plot to speak of but I love this couple and frankly there is no excuse for the lack of fan fiction written about these two. It could be slightly OOC but then it could just be a more mature version of the two. Take your pick. Plus I like exploring the other sides of the character's personalities. Rated M for LEMON (So be warned) First lemon BTW! Tell me what you think!

Enjoy (Reviews=Love)

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HIM FOR HER

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If he has a failing it is that he speaks too much. It is almost intimidating the way he twists his words, to somehow endeavor to break free of the pre set parameters that current historians have devised but yet to be so painfully uptight, it is ridiculous, and confusing. Always the dreamer, researcher, analyst, never the Hero.

She does not pretend to even be bordering on any kind of academic status, less any kind of actual interest in academia, as they sit there, talking, drinking, reading (At least he is). She doesn't have a clue what the hell he is going on half the time, but she is smart. She knows it is important, if not to anyone else it is at least important to him and that is all she needs to justify the long ramblings in the late hours of the evening.

She doesn't pretend to listen (After all deception gets you no where) but she understands the importance. Even still, she knows(At least she tells herself she does), they are far too different to have a reasonable shot at formulating any kind of fallible relationship. Hell she wouldn't be the first to admit that the idea of little glasses clad children running around scares the hell out of her, let alone the things you have to do to get to that point. She's a fighter not a lover. Always speaking her mind and this is no exception. But she'd gladly give into romance would it not be for her own inhibitions. Still, there is something intriguingly soft and loving about the man that almost made up for the lack of tenderness in her own life. A balance of two different emotions (personalities) that always will exist, if not in the real world, (her world never seems that real anyway) then only in the depth of her own wanton mind. He means more to her than he realizes or probably even will realize and she is smart enough to know nothing will ever change. At least without a push. He is not a pusher, and neither is she, at least not in the way she wishes she were, it's easy to push others far harder to push yourself. And for once in her life she is afraid.

"It's fascinating, you see," he pushes the book towards her pointing out a strange symbol. She takes a hearty sip from her mug and yawns. He frowns at the gesture. It is late, later than she normally likes to stay out. She is surprisingly a morning person although she will stay up if it is required. The fresh breeze of the morning air excites her more than the prospect of darkness. It is another thing to add to the growing list of why she doesn't just kiss the dopy frown off of his face right now. She wishes that list were redundant. (It could be)

"If you don't want to listen to me just go home and sleep," there is a distinct note of un-Shad-like bitterness in his tone that snaps her out of her revere.

"I havn't been sleeping well," she gets to the point. "I'm more tired than usual yeah?"

"Oh," his voice softens and she feels her heart clench involuntarily. "sorry i-err didn't mean to…um." He trails off as he always does, when the conversation inadvertently veers towards a subject neither want to think about. She never pretended to be indestructible; people just assume she's immune to the psychological effects fighting has on the soul. But he understands. They sit for a minute, the in descript sounds of other patrons melting into a soft background hum. "But you can go if you want." She pauses for a moment.

"Are **you** going to bed?" It's a seemingly simple question. He looks at her with a strange emotion in his eyes and nods his head slowly.

"I think I will," he tries to yawn to prove his point, but fails, coughing loudly instead. She reaches smacks him hard on the back to try and stop the fit, she doesn't mask her laughter. Eventually he calms down, settling on a light clearing of the throat. Her hand lingers, not willing to relinquish the warmth seeping through her cold gauntlet, on to a skin that hasn't been touched by other hands in years. Her body is close to his own. Forget the gauntlet, her whole body is tingling. How many nights has she laid in bed wanting to feel his body close to hers? It is not enough but she could die happy.

"Ashei." He is staring at the book lying open with a somehow piercing yet absent gaze, not willing to turn his head. If she didn't know better she'd have thought he was blushing. But the light is poor and it wouldn't matter anyway, she's not laughing anymore.

"Yeah?" it rolls off her tongue, slowly, breathy and entirely un-Ashei sounding. His head turns. Sharply. His face so close she can feel his warm breath on her cheek. She doesn't dare to even breath as his eyes flit quickly across her face and settle on her lips.

"I," he leans closer.

"ASHEI!"

They jump apart, she removes her hand as if it was burnt, he almost falls off of his chair. They both send her mug flying and they're both blushing.

She turns toward the untimely interruption, currently in the form of a rather irked Telma holding a large guard at bay.

"Honey, I need y' help," she smiles sympathetically, guiltily, fully aware of what her interruption has broken up. But as the guard's hands reach lower Ashei knows it was justified. Still, she is angry, because she's embarrassed and that is how she is, but she takes her anger out on the guard. It is more effective than boxing Telma's ears. Besides, then everyone would know she'd been about to kiss him (She can't help it, she's a private person). Besides the guard is sorry for his actions (technically it was his fault to begin with) that much she makes sure.

Once the hooligan is done and dealt with (bruised and unconscious) she makes her way back into the bar. How she can feel so different when it's exactly the same as before she doesn't know. But as she approaches him, murmuring words of reassurance to match Telma's apologetic tirade, it's clear to her something has changed. It's unusual and it unsettles her. She doesn't relax as she reaches him, if anything her hair stands even more on end. He is sitting, staring intently at the cover of his book. He hasn't moved an inch. But as she approaches his eyes move and lay to rest on her own. He stands after a short pause and faces her, he's not an exceptionally tall guy but she's never realized how much bigger than her he is. _Man_ is a word she has never associated with him (Or ever though she would) but she can see it clearly in his eyes. When he grasps her hand with his rough fingers (oh she wishes she could feel it) she can feel it through her glove.

"Err can I speak with you outside." But he is still Shad, awkward, fumbling, _extraordinary_ Shad and he doesn't wait for her approval before he tugs her uncharacteristically urgently in a flurry of 'We'll be back in a minute's' and knowing (relieved) smiles towards the door. It closes with a soft 'click' and he rounds on her.

"Ashei, i…" but he doesn't get a word in edgeways before she lets go of her inhibitions and kisses the dorky look off of his face. She's fought off gruesome beasts with little to show save a scratched forearm yet standing there cupping his face gently with her two hands is making her heart beat faster than fighting any monster ever could. The kiss isn't even anything fancy (Not that she's been kissed more than a handful of times) but when she disengages from his lips with a distinct sigh and opens her eyes slowly, it's all she can do to stop herself wrapping her arms round his neck and kissing him again. It's new and thrilling and oh so hard. He is breathing deeply, staring at her like she is the only person in the world. She can feel her face heat up fiercely, inches away from his own, noses almost touching. And even though he has always been a self-proclaimed sissy but he is clearly braver than he or anyone else gives him credit for because it is his hand that draws her mouth onto his own for a second interlude.

Neither is very experienced, she can't imagine there was much practice for kissing in his father's library, and likewise her lessons were lacking in more than just mannerisms, but it is deliciously enticing. Her stomach is in fiery knots and even through the thick metal of her armor she can feel his hand burning on her waist. And his kisses. They are so very Shad-like; soft, calculated and yet increasingly passionate that she just can't think anymore. They break apart breathing in big lungfuls of air, foreheads connected, noses rubbing, glasses askew.

"I…have wanted to do that for so long…" he says in a wobbling husky voice (She's surprised he can even think). "So long… All for you, it's…I do it all for you" The sudden confession fills her with more (if that's possible) love and adoration than she ever thought she could feel.

"Shad." She wants, needs this feeling. "I think we should go somewhere more private. Yeah?" He flushes and nods, slowly, then so incessantly she chuckles and kisses him again, hooking a hand round the back of his neck hard enough for him to stumble into her, earning a few cat calls from some rowdy soldiers lying about near the stairs. They both flush but Shad is smiling his little smile, the one he saves only for really big discoveries and it occurs to her later that the entire time that they hurry to his small library of an apartment he never breaks contact from her waist or hand save once but only to shuffle around in his belt for his keys then open and refasten the door. It takes less than a second for him to reacquaint himself with her lips. He is surprisingly possessive, and it makes her giddy. But in the end (Pride demanding) she is the one to push him gently back onto the bed, straddling his waist. He runs his hands over her pants-clad knees.

"You are so beautiful," he whispers in a husky voice. "I can't believe I waited so long. I was such a coward." She leans down and kisses him again, lingering, breathing until they both can't stand anymore.

"You are not a coward." He watches as her hands run over his shoulders, removing his jacket, tossing it aside. "And I wasn't exactly forthright, yeah?"

"Yeah…" He listens with eyes closed as she fumbles clumsily (Ashei; fumbling clumsily?) with his waistcoat. Then the bow ("What the hell is with this knot?") He chuckles as she literally throws off her gauntlets to enable her better control of her fingers and tosses the bow enthusiastically to the side leaving him lying there in his loose shirt. He feels her as she runs her hands slowly down, then under and up his torso, skin on skin, leaving fire in their wake. He has none of the chiseled features a warrior would have, nor is he sickly from too many sleepless nights and missed meals but he is not a warrior and he is not definitely not sickly, he is Shad, and it is perfect. It is him. And he fits.

Somehow they flip, Shad leaning over her fumbling with the complicated workings of her corset.

"You undo it from the back," and she turns over under him, pointing awkwardly to a series of complicated lockings. But they are surprisingly easy to maneuver and he kisses her neck in appreciation for her practibility.

"Turn." Softly. She does. The corset is gone and her shirt is lifted up and above her head. There is a pause. She waits, watches as he stares at her. A pang of self-consciousness swelling up inside her, he's seen her scars. She may be an expert but it takes a lot of lost matches to become the best. Goddesses, she hasn't even got her support off and she's getting nervous.

"Ashei…" It's a question, clarification. She turns her head and tries to cover her stomach, where the scarring is more prominent (unsuccessfully). A gentle hand touches her arm. "I love you." It is an affirmation, a reason for this and a reason to continue. It is the most unexpected thing. But not undesired. She is still nervous. Hell she almost wants to run away (She never wants to run away) But it makes it more thrilling and she wouldn't trade it for the world.

"I love _you_," an answer, a declaration of something she never thought she'd experience, she shuffles, her support falls away and she presses up against him, a whisper in his ear, skin on skin. "And I want this yeah." He responds and kisses her. Her mouth, neck, breasts, stomach, even feet as he slides her boots off. He kisses every scar, appreciating them as a part of who she is, a part of the woman he loves. And when he finally the clothes are gone and it is purely them, nothing else, he enters her. It is painful and slightly awkward. She clutches tightly onto his shoulders, a small gasp exits her lips as he moves slowly, unsurely. He stops and they sit there for a minute, breathing heavily, they are separate but one in the same, connected in the most intimate way. It is not like the books she's flicked through out of absent interest, there is no fireworks or screams, but it is enough. It is they, the way they are. It is him and her (together) and nothing else matters. She couldn't be more happy.


End file.
